


Shall Reap the Whirlwind

by Trobadora



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen, Time Lord Victorious before the fact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-31
Updated: 2008-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I could have done something. But I didn't."</i> - Set post-<i>Voyage of the Damned</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shall Reap the Whirlwind

**Author's Note:**

> Originally started for the Winter Companions [New Year challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/wintercompanion/26705.html), finally finished for the [Amnesty challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/wintercompanion/58723.html).

  
**PART 1 - FLUX**  


~*~

_Another one swallowed. The leathery sound of powerful wings, flapping for an instant – and then the whoosh of a dimensional vortex, closing as the creature dives back into its native habitat._

_He dodges into an alley, breathless, another creature's beak just barely missing him. A flash of wings, and gone it is again, for the moment, and he can take a breath._

_Not that it will do him any good; he knows what they are, and what they do._

~*~

London, emptied out? A rare sight, and it fits the Doctor's mood. Yes, he's returned to Earth, for now: Everyone will be back soon enough, and he'll leave, to be alone in a different way.

The lonely god.

He wanders off, aimlessly. Through the streets, the artificial snow still falling slowly. Empty as the city is, there are no vehicles to turn it into the usual ugly brown sludge – for now, there is just whiteness, and wetness where the snow is melting.

He's a lousy excuse for a Time Lord. An impotent god; what is the good of that?

What good is his knowledge, what good are his powers when he can't even save a girl?

_If you could decide who lives or dies, then you'd be a monster._

He is.

The lonely god, the Oncoming Storm, all his names – it's not just a Time Lord's hubris; he really is a monster.

Oh, he fails. He fails all the time, fails to save, to protect, even or especially those who matter most to him.

Just a few short days ago, he failed to save the Master. He failed to keep Martha and Jack. And now he's failed to save Astrid, or any of the thousands of people who died aboard the ship.

Not so long ago, he failed to destroy the Daleks, even with everything he sacrificed to accomplish the task.

All too often, he fails. His successes seem paltry in comparison.

And the worst part - the part that no one knows, the part he'll never allow any of them to know, the part he barely dares to admit even to himself, is that it's by choice. His own choice. He _is_ a Time Lord, after all; not bound by the laws of linear time, there is not much that is beyond his reach. But he chooses not to touch the untouchable.

He does decide who lives or dies: choosing not to choose is also a choice, after all.

He does let them die, when he could save them.

His failures: failures within a prescribed set of rules. He escaped from the Time Lords' restrictions a long time ago, and now they no longer control anything, but the rules he set for himself are still in place. Rules: how far he can go, how much he dares - how much of a god he dares to be. It's the only way he knows how to live with himself.

He loves them.

He loves those stupid apes who live in linear time, who cannot see beyond their immediate time frame, who don't know what time _is_. And he knows - he knows it's better this way, a far better thing that he's doing, no matter the cost. The price he pays.

Some days it's just harder to remember that than others.

But of course, all too often it's they who pay the price. For his conviction that he can save them without breaking the rules. For his faith that he can overcome Time Lord hubris and be better than them. For his own unique kind of hubris in trying to avoid theirs.

The power of a Time Lord - and the despair caused by trying not to use it, trying not to be a monster.

He feels positively maudlin; what kind of a mood is that? It's no good, no good at all - something will have to be done about it. He'll need to be getting on with it, back on the road. What else is there to do? But he can't.

He can't.

He blinks at the realisation.

This?

This is what stops him cold? This is what does it in the end? Not the Daleks, not Gallifrey, not the Master - this? A stupid cruise liner with a stupid name that was never, ever going to lead to anything good?

_Insurance fraud?_

But yes, this: a girl's death, in the end, is what does it. Not even a girl he knew well - just a smart girl who wanted a better life and ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like so many of them.

Better that she should never have met him.

Better that she should never have heard his promises, promises he failed to fulfil.

Promises he chose not to fulfil.

He stands still, in the middle of a deserted street, for the longest time. When he finally moves again, it's with determination.

Never again. If there's one thing to take away from this, it's that: never again. He's tried so hard to do the right thing; what has it earned him? What does it profit a man if he stays true to his principles but destroys everything he values?

If he has to be a vengeful god, then so be it. He doesn't even have to look into the heart of the TARDIS - he can do it without that; he can do anything.

_Anything._

If he has to embrace the hubris of his kind, then so be it.

~*~

_The flimsy contraptions of modern day are being cracked open everywhere, but London is full of old buildings, walls so solid with _time_ that it's not hard to find temporary shelter. _

_Jack breathes hard. He may be immortal, but he doubts even he can withstand this. Nothing can come back from this. He's seen it before, from the outside - wounds in time sterilised. Remnants of the Time War, it had been then, that mystical event no one quite believed in, except that it explained so very well the seemingly random events of temporal destruction occurring all over the time stream. But this? What is this?_

_It started not five minutes after he got a message about something _huge_ falling out of the sky into the North Sea. Whatever it was, it must have been bad. Out of control. _

_Who has touched the untouchable, created a paradox so strong an entire planet is being sterilised?_

_Something large, winged, and shrieking slams into the church's stained glass window above, bouncing off, repelled by the history. The glass, fittingly enough, depicts St George slaying the Dragon. Who will slay this one? Not him, that's for sure - even with all of the Time Agency's resources at his disposal, this would have been beyond him. On 21st century Earth? Not even a shred of a chance._

_Jack looks up at the gothic ceiling, at its painted scenes. They offer no explanation, no comfort._

~*~

Laws, laws, laws. Time Lord laws, human laws, laws of nature. He's had it up to _here_ \- he gestures at himself with the thought - with laws. He's going to do this.

He's going to stop the damn thing, he's going to save someone, cost it what it may. Reapers? Who the hell cares about Reapers? So long as he gets out quickly enough, doesn't let himself be caught in the sealed-off portion of space-time – and _that_ is a mistake he won't be making again, thank you very much. Who _cares_ if the rest of them get eaten by Reapers? They're going to die one way or another.

He's going to do this.

He's not going to fail again.

He takes the TARDIS back. The _Titanic_, still full of life. Now all he has to do is get the right moment. The TARDIS hovers, an instant before it happens. His other self is too busy shouting; he doesn't notice. As soon as he fully integrates the TARDIS into the time flow, it'll start.

He's got to get this right. There's no room for mistakes.

No.

Not here; it can't start here. If it starts here, here is where it will end too: there's no way to escape notice, even for a moment. If he's going to save anyone other than Astrid, that will have to come first.

He takes the TARDIS a little higher, a little earlier, and slips her into reality, gently, gently - unnoticed by anyone, even his own younger self. So far, so good - until he actually does something, everything will be fine.

He's here to do something. Finally do something.

With determined steps, he strides out.

~*~

_A high-pitched whine. A sound he's subconsciously been listening for ever since this started, because if there's one person who can stop this, it's him._

_And here it is, finally, thankfully: the TARDIS._

_Out he comes: the Doctor, the saviour he's waiting for._

_"This is my fault," the Doctor says._

_What?_

~*~

He leaves the TARDIS and slowly makes his way towards where he knows some of the crew will be. His sonic screwdriver, adapted to what the now knows are the specific settings of the angel androids, makes short work of them.

There ... almost there now! He approaches the corner carefully and peeks around for a fraction of a second. His younger self is nowhere near; he'll be able to act without any danger of being seen.

He's about to step out of the shadows and grab one of the stewards, save the first life, make the first difference - -

Suddenly a hand is slapped across his mouth, and a strong arm wrapped around him, pulling him back. He struggles reflexively, for a moment, but the sensation - -

His muscles go slack. The utter impossibility of it stuns him.

Jack!

Impossibility - what a fitting word, under the circumstances. There is _no way_ Jack Harkness can be here now, no way Jack can be pulling him back, dragging him in the direction of the TARDIS. There is no way this can be happening _at all_.

Except that, obviously, it is.

He can't see the man, and Jack hasn't said a word yet, but that isn't necessary - he'd recognise that sensation everywhere, the immortality that violates all the laws of nature, the fixed point in space and time around which everything revolves.

It takes him until Jack has pulled him into the TARDIS to shake off the shock. Almost as soon as the door closes behind them, he begins to struggle against Jack's grip.

Jack removes his hand from the Doctor's mouth, but doesn't let him go.

"Now listen to me," he begins angrily, as soon as his mouth is free, and twists his upper body to face the other man. "What the hell are you ..."

He trails off, because he's managed to turn himself around just enough - yes, it is Jack, and Jack looks like hell. What he's seeing - shadows under Jack's eyes, exhaustion clear in his posture and in every line on his face, even under all the grime. There's a cut on his left cheek that could probably do with some cleaning, and maybe a few stitches too. He looks - he looks - -

He looks like he's just come out of the Year of Hell, not like the cheerful man the Doctor said good-bye to in Cardiff, just a day or two ago.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asks, softly, his rage forgotten for the moment.

Jack's face remains grim. "You."

The Doctor recoils as if struck. For a moment, he almost shifts his focus - but then he remembers: He has a purpose, here. He can't let Jack distract him. He won't let Jack stop him. It's time to stop being so damned conscientious all the damned time. It's time to make a _difference_.

"Let me go," he orders.

Jack rolls his eyes, but the annoyance is short-lived. "Nope" is all he says, and his voice is cold.

The Doctor begins to fight him in earnest then, but before he realises what Jack is doing, Jack has triggered his wrist device, and they find themselves staggering into a completely different place.

His vortex manipulator, which shouldn't even be working. After all, the Doctor disabled it himself.

He pushes aside the faint twinge of guilt at that.

He looks around. They seem to be on top of some sort of large building. "What the hell did you do that for?! What do you think you're doing?"

"Stopping you," Jack says, his voice weary, a determined sort of sadness permeating every syllable. And that's all he says.

The Doctor ignores the faint niggling at the edge of his awareness that tells him something's not quite right.

"What? Let me go!" he demands again.

This time, Jack lets him go - easily, too easily, considering he's just forcibly pulled him down a corridor and into the TARDIS, refused to let go of him, teleported them to Rassilon knows where.

But he's still not saying anything.

~*~

_Inside the TARDIS, hovering in the vortex: they made it out of the piece of space-time that is being sterilised as they speak. How, Jack is not sure. But this isn't the first run-in the Doctor had with Reapers; he obviously knows what he's doing._

_Except for the incredible, ridiculous, _idiotic_ story he's just told._

_"You did _what_?" Jack asks again, disbelieving. "Are you completely off your rocker?"_

_The Doctor only looks at him, defeated._

~*~

Jack is staring at him. Grim-faced, resolved, unyielding. Not a look he's accustomed to see on Jack Harkness's face.

There's a lot here that's not what he's used to.

"Reapers," Jack finally says. The look he gives the Doctor is dark, hooded. Unreadable, even for a Time Lord. "They're busy sterilising the planet. All of it."

Is that supposed to be some sort of explanation?

Anyway, they can't be. The Reapers were sterilising the _Titanic_, of course, but more than that? No, Jack must be wrong. What does Jack know about Reapers anyway?

"That doesn't make any sense," he says, shaking his head.

But Jack seems disinclined to say more.

It's really not like him to be this moody, no matter how bad things get. This is the man who will banter in the midst of an alien attack, who will throw quips at his torturer, who will flirt with everyone and everything even at the very end of the universe.

But now he's silent.

The Doctor shivers.

He can't even imagine how wrong things must get for Jack, of all people, to become silent.

The year they spent on the _Valiant_ couldn't do it. The Master himself couldn't do it.

But this, whatever it is, this did it.

It's too much. If he could turn away, he would. But they're standing on the flat roof of some high-rise building in some city somewhere, and there is nowhere to go.

The chill of the wind is the least of what makes it uncomfortable up here.

And he has no clue how to deal with this Jack, no clue at all.

He wants to shake Jack, make him react, make him be more like the man he knows.

"Damn it!" he finally curses, frustrated and tired. "You can't just go and abduct me like that. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Too late, he remembers that he's asked that before, and what the answer was.

Jack's look is far more chilling than the wind. "You want to hear it?" he says, his voice barely a hiss. "You want to know what you did? Fine, here you go: You sent me back to stop you." He takes an angry step forward, glaring directly into the Doctor's face. "Because yes, where I come from - _when_ I come from - the Reapers are busy sterilising the planet. And it's all your fault!" Now that he's finally started, it seems he can't stop the words from tumbling out in an angry stream. "You messed with the timeline - every first-year cadet at the Time Academy would know better! But no, of course the rules don't apply to the mighty Time Lord, do they?"

"Now wait a minute -"

Jack won't be interrupted, not now. "Your time-meddling self made it out - saw the Reapers spreading around, realised what was happening, found me and sent me back to stop himself. Hey, what's one more time loop, one more paradox? Whatever comes of it, can't be worse than what you did."

The Doctor gapes. "That's absurd!"

"Oh, really?" Jack narrows his eyes. "Why exactly is that?"

He seems more than just angry, or disproportionately so. The Doctor can't quite decide. But whatever happened has Jack rattled beyond what he'd have thought possible.

"There's no reason the Reapers should have spread," the Doctor explains, not quite patiently. He's a Time Lord, after all! Time is _his_ birthright. Who the hell does Jack think he is, criticising him like that? "I planned it all out! Sure, the ship would have been sterilised, but that should have been it. Not the whole planet, that doesn't make any sense."

He has no idea what might have gone wrong. What _could_ have gone wrong? He shakes the thought off. He knows what he's doing. Doesn't he?

"And that would have been okay?"

"Yes! They were dead anyway." It sounds unconvincing, even to himself. "It shouldn't have spread! That makes no sense!"

"What, you thought you could just go and violate the laws of space-time, with no penalty? You thought it could be contained? Well, not so much - the paradox didn't just attract the Reapers, it attracted them _to you_. Both versions of you on that ship. Which prevented your younger self from preventing the crash. Didn't really think this one through, did you, Doctor? Not so easy to prevent a crash while being attacked by Reapers."

The Doctor blanches. That ship, with its nuclear storm drive, actually crashing -

"Oh, it didn't crash into London," Jack continues, his lip curling with disgust. "You managed that much, at least. Got it clean into the sea. But in the end, that didn't even matter. Because it still crashed onto the planet, you see." His voice is vicious now, cutting. "Spreading the contamination."

~*~

_The first thought is disappointment._

_The second is anger._

_How could the Doctor be so stupid? How, after all they've been through, could he - for the life of some strangers - throw everything away? risk the destruction of reality itself?_

_Jack finds himself seething, and it's only thanks to the part of him that still can't quite believe this is happening that he's not punching the Doctor in the face._

_All in all, that's a shame, he thinks when he's finally absorbed everything. But by then anger has turned into bitterness, and the moment for a cleansing right hook has passed._

~*~

_Spreading the contamination._

Of course. Of _course_ \- why didn't he think of that? Why didn't that occur to him? He needs to plan better next time, that's for sure - -

"What the fuck did you think you were doing?" Jack demands.

And the Doctor's still not sure why he's so angry. Sure, he's messed this one up but good, but they all mess something up on occasion, don't they? No need to get bent out of shape, it'll get fixed.

"This isn't like you. What the hell made you think this was a good idea?

He grimaces. What good is explaining, anyway? How could Jack even understand?

But then again, Jack's immortal. If any human can understand, it will be him.

The Doctor sighs, scratches his scalp, turns away. "I just can't," he says. "I won't. Not any more. Never again."

"Can't what?"

"Lose people. I always lose them. And I never do what it takes to keep them, even though I could. I can do anything! This may have been badly planned, but the theory is sound -"

"The hell it is," Jack interrupts him again. "_That's_ why you did it? Do you even hear yourself? There's a reason you generally don't do things like that! You'll just have to live with it."

"I _can't_!"

"Of course you fucking well can. You don't get a choice! None of us do, not even you."

"But -"

Jack shakes his head, tired and exasperated. He leans against the chimney and rubs a hand over his face, spreading some of the grime around. "You're not a god, Doctor."

The Doctor freezes. "I'm a Time Lord," he finally says. "Have you any idea what that even means? What I can truly do? I don't live in linear time. I see the whole of existence, the stars and the planets, the galaxies turning - I can see _time itself_. And you - you may be immortal, but you still can't understand what that means."

"You're amazing," Jack says, and there is almost something like awe in his voice, even after all this. The Doctor is tempted to cringe, but he won't give Jack that satisfaction. "You really are. The way you think, the way you see the world, that's nothing we can ever understand, you're right about that. And you can do any number of things that are beyond us." Something that is almost a smile flashes across his face for an instant, and his voice becomes almost gentle. "But the universe doesn't bend to your will. And time moves on, whether you like it or not. You can go back, but it won't be the same stream, even for you. It's life - you're living, you're not beyond that."

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm still responsible. I'm the one who sees all of space and time. I'm the one who gets people into these messes, and I'm the one who needs to get them out of there. I need to help -"

"You need to patronise everyone?"

Jack's interruption is sharp, like a slap.

"That's not -"

"That's exactly it. You're a fool." Jack shakes his head, but there's affection in his look - everything that was missing earlier. "You spend so much time around humans, and you always say you like us, even as you insult us." He flashes a grin - a mere shadow of his usual brightness. "Remember Malcassairo? Even at the end of the universe, people were getting on with their lives. Surviving. _Living._ And wasn't it fantastic?"

The Doctor nods, caught up in the memory. That's always been what he loved best about humanity, that ability to adapt and grow, no matter what -

"But you won't let any of us live and grow on our own if you can help it," Jack continues, a hint of bitterness back in his voice. "What's the good of being able to, if you'll try to take our choices away from us at every turn? Your girl on that ship - she didn't know what you were capable of, she couldn't have known. She just made a choice. The best she could under the circumstances. And it was hers - her choice to make. Who are you to take that away from her?"

The Doctor can only stare. Jack's never spoken to him like that before.

He's certainly had reason before, being abandoned the way he was.

If anyone had the right, it was Jack.

"You make the best of what you get," Jack says gently. "That goes for everyone, you included. We all have limits, even you. And you're not responsible for everything."

The Doctor swallows. Blinks. Tries to settle this unexpected lecture in his mind. After a minute, he leans his forehead against the chimney.

"Oh God," he mumbles into the wall, "I'm more stupid than Rose."

"What?"

Jack looks incredulous, and the Doctor realises how that must have sounded.

"She tried to change her own timeline once, you know - stupid thing to do, I warned her, but she wouldn't listen. But she didn't know - didn't really know what the consequences would be, didn't have any concept of what she was doing. And," he hesitates, "it was for her father. Someone she's missed all her life. Me? I did the same thing, knowing the consequences, and for a near-stranger. I'm _so_ stupid."

"She must have been very special."

"Astrid? A clever girl. I liked her. But I barely knew her - she could have been fantastic, you know, if she'd been allowed to do something with her life. She tried - and in the end, she made a difference. But I couldn't give her - I couldn't show her - in the end, they were all dead." He grimaces. Put like that, it all sounds very - soap opera drama. "I just ... wanted to save her."

But he couldn't.

He can't.

He slumps back against the chimney as it all washes over him, everything he's not allowed himself to think, everything he's not allowed himself to feel.

Jack's hand is a warm, steadying weight on his shoulder.

~*~

_An intact "space hopper"? Oh yes, that will do the trick. He knows when and where, he knows what to do: stop the Doctor. But in the end, whether or not he knows it, the Doctor is stopping himself._

_Sometimes he just remembers too late._

~*~

"Let's get back to your TARDIS and get it off that ship."

A quick teleport gets them back to where they were, and, he suspects, _when_ they were. He doesn't check, just gets the TARDIS out of the way.

"Right. Now, about -"

As he turns away from the console, he sees Jack smiling. His body is becoming transparent, fading out of existence - the timeline that created him has been erased. A moment longer, and he's gone.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor whispers to the last image of Jack that's still imprinted on his mind, still clear in front of his mind's eye.

~*~

  
**PART 2 - FIXED POINT**  


~*~

He takes a deep breath. What now? Where to?

_Back to normal, I suppose._

But no, he'll have to check up on Jack first, won't he? See if everything's all right with the man. See if everything's really back the way it should be.

See Jack without that expression half pity, half contempt on his face.

And if it gives the Doctor the company he needs, if it saves him from being alone, even only for a while, well, no reason to complain about fringe benefits, right?

The Doctor nods to himself. Finding Jack is easy.

Even when he doesn't try, Jack is a constant thrumming at the back of his mind, the awareness of a Fact that should not be, something immutable and timeless and utterly impossible.

Now, he's consciously looking.

He doesn't do that very often - it always makes him a little dizzy. But when he concentrates, he can pinpoint Jack's location, no matter what. At any point in space, in time.

No.

Who is he kidding? Jack has no location.

Jack is the stillness at the centre of space and time. He is the point where the axes cross - the point of origin.

It's where the Doctor's going, now.

~*~

Where he finds Jack, not so long after they last parted in Cardiff, is on top of a large buiding.

"Captain."

"Doctor?" Jack turns around, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

The Doctor has caught up with him on New Year's Eve, on top of a building, looking out at Cardiff. The rooftop is uncomfortably familiar.

"Could say the same to you," the Doctor replies with a grin. "No party?"

Jack lifts the bottle he's holding. "Got this."

The Doctor walks closer. "Care to share?"

Jack grins. "With you? Always." He gives the Doctor a playful once-over. "Not that I'm complaining, but what brings you here?"

"Oh, nothing - you know how it goes, thought I'd try this New Year's resolutions thing this year. Well, actually, already did - you know, the human calendar really gets a mess if you calculate backwards and forwards through too many millennia. But anyway, that didn't turn out so well, so I'm trying again." He knows he's babbling, and that none of what he's saying will make much sense to Jack, but there it is. Sometimes things just need to be said.

Jack gives him a strange look, but says nothing.

He sets down the bottle.

Ten minutes to midnight.

They sit at the edge of the flat roof, looking down at the lights of the city, out at the glittering reflections in the water.

Sitting quietly.

There's something niggling at the Doctor's awareness, but he shrugs it away. It was all too much; a bit of peace and quiet will do him good.

As they sit, he contemplates the man beside him. It no longer hurts to look at him; he's got used to that much. But still, there's something not quite comfortable about being this close to him. He's not quite as comfortable around Jack as he used to be.

Because of what he is. The Fact itself, and what it means.

Just that he exists is enough to make the Doctor nervous a bit, but that's slowly fading - habituation, he supposes. But the rest -

Yes, the rest.

Jack's his companion, or was, at least - but Jack is also a fixed point in space and time, and the Doctor feels more like _he_ is the one orbiting around another's star. Jack is the centre; the Doctor is drawn to it and repelled.

He has to consciously remember that it doesn't change their relationship. At least, it doesn't have to.

He wonders if it might be good for him, especially after the mess he made of everything with the _Titanic_. He snorts to himself.

"Doctor?"

Jack's voice is loud on the silent rooftop, high above the city, where the sound of New Year's Eve noises is muffled.

And the Doctor finally realises what's wrong here. He turns, abruptly. Examines the other man closely.

"Jack?"

"Doctor?"

The Doctor snorts. What an inane conversation. "You're being awfully quiet," he says, breaking the stalemate.

Below them, the muffled noises are picking up. Bangers getting more frequent. And there's the odd firework rocket lighting the sky around them.

Jack hesitates. "Are you all right?"

And that clinches it. The Doctor's up on his feet in an instant, pacing. "You remember!" he tells the rooftop, accusingly.

After a moment, Jack follows suit. "You tell me," he says, much too quietly. He's been much too silent ever since the Doctor arrived. He's been holding something back. And it took the Doctor several minutes of quiet to realise.

With _Jack_.

When Jack's not bantering, or flirting, there's definitely something wrong. Why the hell didn't he pick up on it earlier?

He blinks into Jack's face. "You do remember." He scratches his ear. "I suppose ... the Vortex made you what you are, after all, and in your own way, you exist outside the linear flow of time. You're not - well, you're not like a Time Lord, so you can't really see it, but there's a part of you that's not _temporal_. So it stands to reason that part wouldn't be affected by the flux of the timeline, right?"

"If you say so." Jack shrugs, almost easily. "So it is an alternate timeline I'm remembering."

The Doctor nods, soberly. "Yes." And hesitantly, "I'm sorry."

And then the fireworks start in earnest. All around them, rockets lighting the sky in a brilliant display of colours.

Midnight.

For a few long minutes, there is too much noise, too much light and colour. Side by side, they watch.

Then Jack looks back at the Doctor and frowns. "You don't look so hot", he finally says. "Well - you look hot, you always do." He playfully leers at the Doctor. "But you sound like you need this more than I do." He picks up the bottle of champagne, pops it open with practiced movements and hands it over.

The Doctor takes a swig. "She's dead," he says. "She and a couple thousand others. I never can save them. It's no use. I should -", he swallows, "I could have done something. But I didn't." He shakes his head. "And then I did, but I shouldn't have."

Jack gives him a pitying look, but his voice is bitter more than anything else. "You can't save everyone."

"That's the thing," the Doctor admits desperately. "That's the thing, I could. I always could. But I never do. Because the price is too high. But it's still my choice." Abruptly, he stands. This was a bad idea; better to get on with it. Jack may be the only constant left in the universe, _his_ universe, but since when does that mean he actually has to _talk_ to the man?

Since when did talking ever solve anything?

Jack's hand shoots out, holding him back. "Don't run."

The Doctor snorts. Wasn't that what he'd decided earlier? No more running. No more mercy. No more _rules_. But look at how that turned out. Better to return to the tried-and-true Doctor way of handling things.

"We're all of us better off that way," he whispers. "Trust me on that."

"No."

"Why not?" the Doctor asks, angrily. "Look at what happened when I didn't!" He glares at Jack for a moment. Then: "It's what I always do. It's what I do best! I told you - I ran from the Untempered Schism as a child, and I never stopped. Ran away from so many things, and never looked back. Out of sight, out of mind - that's how it works! I've always been a coward. Didn't stop the Daleks either - couldn't push those buttons. Does that give you pause? I'd have let the Daleks win. I could have stopped them, but I didn't. You trusted me to stop them - you died to stop them, but I didn't."

That seems to bring Jack up short. But only for a moment; then suddenly, incongruously, there's a smile on his face. "That was a long time ago for me." He hesitates for a moment. Then: "You think I don't know why you're a coward?"

Oh so understanding. Who does he think he is?

"Do you now? And what, pray tell, gave you this great insight?" the Doctor hisses.

"Oh, I don't know, spending a year with the Master?"

The Doctor flinches.

Jack smiles, humourlessly. "I didn't see it before. I mean - I was a Time Agent, I know better than anyone what kind of power time travel gives you. And that's for people like me, who still live in the normal flow of time. Your kind? You exist outside those parameters. And you _see_ time, the way other people see space. I knew that. But I don't think I really understood what it meant until I saw the Master, and the power he claimed."

"He was a Time Lord. That kind of power is our birthright."

"I know. That's why you're running."

The Doctor deflates.

"You try so hard to stop yourself. Sometimes you try too hard." Jack snorts. "And of course sometimes you forget you need to be stopped. Hazard of hanging out with humans, I suppose."

"Do you have any idea of the things I have done? The things I could do? I could - -" The Doctor's voice breaks. "He wasn't that unlike me."

"In some ways. And couldn't have been more different in others." Jack hesitates. "I wouldn't have been so angry with you if I didn't understand that."

The Doctor blinks.

Finally. The last missing piece. Jack had every right to be angry, of course, and disappointed, but still, there'd been something _wrong_ about his reaction. Something that didn't quite make sense.

"You see," Jack continues quietly, "I'd only just figured that out. Why you run. Why it's _all right_ that you run. I'd only just ... managed to accept that." And it couldn't have been easy, not after being abandoned, not after searching, waiting for an explanation for a hundred years. Jack grins helplessly. "And after all that, you go and just - throw it all away?" He shrugs. "How was I supposed to react to that?"

"I'm sorry," the Doctor says again.

"It's all right." Jack finally lets his arm go. "Just don't run from _me_." A brief hesitation. "Not again."

"Right," he whispers, harshly. "You're right. Not from this. Don't let me."

He's learned his lesson. He won't make this mistake again. Thanks to Jack, he'll remember his limits. He'll remember there are things to run from, and things to face, things to meddle with and things to leave alone. He will. He _will_.

The next time he hits something that can't be changed, some fixed event in the time stream, he will remember that. He will remember, no matter the cost.

They sit at the edge of the roof again, passing the bottle between them. Watching the rest of the fireworks.

Jack affectionately bumps his shoulder. He says nothing.

He doesn't need to.


End file.
